


Rescue Mission

by assaultronbutt



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Idiots in Love, Love/Hate, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 07:26:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16259456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assaultronbutt/pseuds/assaultronbutt
Summary: What if the sole survivor had enlisted help in her search for Danse? What if Deacon was the one to find him? What if Deacon was also really bad at responding appropriately to a crisis?





	Rescue Mission

**Author's Note:**

> I've taken a loooooong break from my big novel-length Deacon/Sole fic and am now going back and editing and getting ready to continue that story SOON but in the meantime this pairing and scenario popped into my head so I wrote smut about it.

It wasn’t as though Deacon didn’t want to find Danse. He liked Danse fine, aside from the whole staunch allegiance to a genocidal military organization thing. He just didn’t feel like the best fit for talking him down from an existential crisis. He’d never even heard of a mind-wiped synth going on to join the Brotherhood, but supposed it wasn’t entirely outside the realm of possibility. Shitty luck, though. He wondered if Amari could figure out some kind of subconscious blocking mechanism to program into new synth rescues. A bad smell whenever they even thought about joining the Brotherhood. An inability to take Maxson’s bullshit seriously. Though he supposed that one should be automatic for anyone with a working brain. 

Either way, Danse had his sympathy, if not his understanding. He was probably scared to hell, which helped explain the messy trail Deacon had picked up just outside Malden – occasional snapped branches at Danse-height, a discarded can of purified water – as well as his terrible decision to line a nondescript bunker with high-tech laser turrets. It was an obvious, amateur move that served as a big old X-marks-the-spot, practically shouted to any jackass wandering by that there was something or someone stashed inside. All signs pointed to this being the place. Deacon sighed at the smoldering hunks of metal that were all that remained of Danse’s defenses, delaying the inevitable. He could always just head back to Sanctuary and let Annie know that he’d found the likely hideout, but Danse could move on by the time they made it back, or get himself caught by Brotherhood soldiers. And Annie was probably still out looking herself, likely would be past dark. She had a big heart, their Charmer. And an inconvenient talent for roping Deacon into her causes. 

It was too late now. He headed inside the bunker, which was a mess, took a rickety old elevator down a level. There were two rusty protectrons waiting for him. A laser grazed his shoulder before he could fire a shot off. He swore, rallying quickly and taking down both robots. 

The basement looked like an old military base that had only recently been re-purposed into a makeshift home. Through a window into a back room Deacon spotted Danse. He looked morose and exhausted, bags under his eyes, slouched on the ground and staring off into nothing. Deacon walked over and rapped sharply on the window, three quick knocks, but Danse didn’t react, didn’t even look up. Deacon’s stomach turned over with a jolt of fear but then he saw Danse’s chest rise and fall in his Brotherhood uniform. Not dead, then. Deacon sighed, looked around for an entrance. He spotted a part of the wall that had collapsed in one section of the basement and seemed to lead to a sort of cavern. Deacon ducked inside, took a few turns, and found himself stepping into the room with Danse. 

“Gotta say, I’m sure your buddy meant well but I’m not really one for the ‘distressed’ look,” Deacon said, brandishing his singed t-shirt sleeve for emphasis. 

“Deacon,” Danse croaked, his voice sounding rough. He didn’t look up. “Why are you here.” 

“Heard the world’s lamest party was happening and I wanted to get a look for myself.” 

Danse smirked, which was definitely a bad sign. He hated Deacon’s jokes. 

“I assume you’ve heard?” 

Deacon shrugged. “It’s alright man, I’m a synth myself. Found out when an escaped Institute scientist recognized me. Guess she and I had a bit of a history, if you know what I’m saying, and-“ 

“No you’re not,” Danse said flatly. “Annie told me you tried that on her.” 

Goddamnit. That was another thing about Charmer. Forget keeping secrets, it was like she didn’t even realize you didn’t have to tell everyone about everyone else’s business. 

“Ok, you caught me. But like I said, it’s fine. Now if we could get –“ 

“It’s not _fine_ ,” Danse spat, finally looking over at Deacon. “It’s the furthest thing from fine. I spent the past decade of my life, more than that, fighting for the Brotherhood’s vision of a better world. I vowed to exterminate every technological abomination that man’s foolhardiness had wrought. And all this time, I was secretly the very thing I fought against. I’m not even human. I have no right to exist.” 

Deacon scuffed his shoe against the cement floor. 

“Yeah, that’s. Uh. Rough.” 

Danse suddenly drew back, his face twisting into suspicion. “Did you know?” 

“What?” Deacon asked, confused. 

“ _Did you know I was a synth?_ ” Danse hissed. 

“Jesus! No. Of course not.” 

“Would you have told me if you did?” 

“Yes! I don’t know.” Deacon ran a hand through his pompadour, annoyed. “Look, it doesn’t matter because I didn’t, ok?” 

Danse sat back against the wall, looking mostly satisfied with Deacon’s answer. Deacon sighed. 

“We gotta get moving. If I could find you then Maxson’s guys can’t be too far behind, and –“ 

“I’m not going,” Danse said. 

Deacon took another deep breath. 

“Danse,” he said. “I get it. This is all a lot to process. But Annie sent me here to come get you, and if I don’t –“ 

“You don’t get it. I’m not running anymore,” Danse said, all the life sucked out of his voice. “I was wrong to run in the first place. I have to be destroyed.” 

“Destroyed. Christ.” Deacon rubbed his hands over his face. “You aren’t a _thing_.” 

“But I am!” He was angry again, voice booming. “I was created in a lab, brought into existence by a team of scientists who created me for their own amusement. I’m not a human being. I’m a rogue experiment.” 

Deacon was tired, so tired, of this fight. With Danse, with the Institute, with the entire fucking Commonwealth. It seemed so obvious to him, the life crackling behind Danse’s eyes, the complex layers of belief systems and experiences and hopes that made Danse who he was. It had always seemed so strange to deny synths agency based on the circumstances of their birth. Deacon and every human like him were all just the random result of cells smashing together. What authority did that give him over people like Danse, or Nick, or Glory, who just happened to make it here via a different route? 

“Look,” Deacon said, “I could sit here and debate bioethics and artificial intelligence and the nature of fucking consciousness with you all day but I would honestly prefer to tear my own fingernails off, so if you could just please just give enough of a shit to –“ 

“I’m not going,” Danse said, sounding as certain as he ever did. 

“Fuck!” Deacon shouted, slapping a hand on the wall. “Fuck.” 

The men shared a long silence. Danse kept his eyes down. 

“If I leave you’re going to do yourself in, aren’t you?” Deacon asked quietly. He glanced over at Danse, who avoided his gaze. 

“I have a duty to fulfill,” Danse replied, the barest strain of apology in his voice. 

“Shit,” Deacon hissed. He stared at the wall, brain reeling. 

“I understand that I have placed you in a difficult position,” Danse said slowly. “I hope, in time, you are able to understand.” 

Something in Deacon snapped. “Right, no, get up. Time to get up. Let’s go.” 

He strode over to Danse and grabbed his uniform at each shoulder, trying to hoist him up. Danse stared up at him, a confused ball of muscle. Very heavy muscle. 

“What… what are you doing?” 

Deacon kept trying to secure a grip on Danse’s suit. God, they made these things tight-fitting. “Helping you. We’re leaving.” 

“Stop,” Danse said, slapping his hands away. Deacon just dodged him and made another try. “This is ridiculous.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“That’s, you- you can’t just take what I said and use it to insult me. That’s absurd.” 

“You’re absurd,” Deacon grunted, hoisting again. 

“Enough,” Danse snapped. He shoved Deacon at the shoulders, sending him back a step. 

Deacon paused for a moment, looking him over. Danse was flustered. Definitely annoyed, en route to pissed off. “Well, would you look at that. He’s alive.” Deacon smacked him once on his right shoulder. 

Danse’s eyes went wide. “What are you doing?” 

“Improvising. Providing external stimulus.” Deacon slapped Danse across the cheek. 

Danse reached out and grabbed Deacon’s hand, clutching it tightly enough to hurt. 

“If you do that again, I will make sure you regret it,” Danse warned, his voice low. 

He released his grip on Deacon’s hand, leaving it pink and mottled as the blood rushed back into his fingers. Deacon held it to his chest, then cocked his head, considered a moment. He reached out and slapped Danse again. 

Danse sprang to his feet with a growl, rushing Deacon and pinning him against the opposing wall, one big forearm pressed against his chest. He snatched Deacon’s sunglasses off, threw them to the floor. 

“Leave. Me. Alone,” Danse snarled, as angry as Deacon had ever seen him. He pulled Deacon forward and knocked him back against the wall for emphasis. 

Deacon let his body go limp, waiting to feel Danse’s grip weaken in kind. He could sense Danse’s arm starting to ease up against his chest and quickly took his opportunity, flipping the two of them and slamming Danse up against the wall. 

“Fucker,” Danse hissed, his eyes narrowed. 

“Awww, that doesn’t sound like the little lost boy scout I’ve come to know and love,” Deacon teased. 

Danse turned his head away, his expression strange. Deacon felt a flare of concern, he hoped he hadn’t actually hurt the guy. 

“I can do this all day, man. I swear to god, if I have to drag you across the Commonwealth… well I will probably try to find someone else to do it. Or we could employ some kind of cart, maybe. Do you think anyone’s ever tried to ride a Yao Guai?” 

“Please shut up,” Danse replied flatly. 

Deacon opened his mouth to continue but then he rocked forward ever so slightly and was quickly interrupted by the feeling of Danse. Danse’s cock, specifically. Unmistakably hard. Against his thigh. Deacon fell into another rare silence. He looked at Danse, who was still looking away, face all scrunched up and pained. He moved his leg ever so slightly, just out of curiosity, and Danse let out small broken moan. 

“Holy shit,” Deacon said dumbly. 

He’d always thought Danse was cute, obviously, for a fascist at least, but he’d written him off as a non-option from the moment they’d met. His whole demeanor, the way he tripped over his expressions of gratitude to Annie, it all just screamed bumbling straight guy. Deacon wasn’t even sure what the Brotherhood thought of gay relationships. And yeah, stereotypes were a bitch, but Deacon’s entire job was knowing and using stereotypes. They carried water sometimes. 

“Are you. You’re bi? Gay?” Deacon asked finally. 

Danse straightened up, fully exploiting his inch of height on Deacon. “My personal life is none of your concern.” 

Deacon smirked and rocked his leg forward again. Danse gasped, his ears turning red. 

“Please,” Danse said. 

“Please what?” 

“Stop.” 

“You sure?” Deacon asked, pitching his voice low. 

He felt Danse shudder against him. 

“Oh, you like that?” 

Danse just shut his eyes, craning his neck away as if in pain. 

Deacon kept him pinned in place. “You like when I talk to you like that?” Danse was slowly grinding against Deacon, legs slightly spread. Deacon wondered if he even knew he was doing it. The thought made him a little dizzy. “Have you thought about this before?” Deacon continued. “Thought about us? Maybe imagined what it might be like?” 

A groan. That meant yes. 

Deacon could feel himself getting hard too. “So good,” he muttered thoughtlessly, grinding back against Danse. “So fucking pretty.” 

“Stop,” Danse growled, squirming beneath him. He still didn’t pull away. “You’re making fun of me.” 

“Is that what I’m doing?” Deacon asked. 

“Aren’t you?” Danse was finally looking back at him, eyes dazed with just a hint of worry. 

“I’m really not.” Deacon took a chance, leaned in and mouthed gently at a spot on Danse’s neck. Let his tongue sweep over a stray freckle he’d always been fond of. He felt Danse tense beneath him. 

“Why?” 

“Want to,” Deacon said, mouth against skin. “And because you are very pretty.” 

He felt Danse squirm again. 

“You like that too, huh?” 

“No,” Danse said weakly, still moving slowly against Deacon. 

“Hmm.” Deacon let his hand drift down Danse’s body, gently grabbed him and squeezed. Danse let out a long, low groan. 

“Got evidence that suggests otherwise,” Deacon said, smiling. 

Danse frowned at him. “You’re very confident, you know that?” 

“That’s the funny thing,” Deacon said, palming at Danse’s erection, his tone deceptively casual. Danse let his head clunk back against the wall. “I’ve got terrible self-esteem. Atrocious, really. Not a minute goes by when I’m not stewing in my own self-loathing.” 

“That true?” Danse peered down at him through slitted eyes. 

Deacon shrugged a shoulder. “Is anything I say ever true?” He decided he missed Danse’s neck, leaned back in to mouth at it some more. 

“I think you’re more truthful than you put on,” Danse said, arching into him. Deacon needed to get him out of the stupid Brotherhood suit – all the zippers and buttons and hooks were getting in the way of his pawing. 

“I think you think too much,” Deacon muttered into his neck. “That’s how we ended up here, right?” 

He felt Danse tense beneath him. Suddenly big hands grabbed him by the shoulders, firmly pushed him back. Danse looked at him, expression serious. 

“Deacon.” 

Deacon looked back at him. “Danse.” 

“We can’t do this. I’m not… human.” 

Deacon knocked his hands away, frustrated. “Look, I don’t give a shit, ok? I don’t give a shit that you’re a synth. All I need to know is if you want this or not.” 

Danse stared back at him. He looked pained. 

“This is where you say, ‘Yes.’,“ Deacon said, smirking. 

It earned him a weak smile. Deacon waited a moment before stepping back into Danse’s space, started gently playing with a stray zipper on his chest that went… somewhere. He hoped somewhere fun and interesting but he was eager to get started either way. 

“Deacon,” Danse began softly. 

Deacon moved quickly, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Danse’s. Danse grunted in surprise, then opened to meet him, working his tongue into Deacon’s mouth. Deacon felt his legs go a little wobbly, internally rolled his eyes at himself. It had been a long time but not that long. 

Danse angled his chin, his beard scraping against Deacon’s stubble. Deacon pressed his body up against him, reached up to grab at his shoulders, his hair, anything. For a guy on what was probably the worst day of his life, Danse felt solid and steady, calmly took whatever Deacon had to give him, grazed his teeth over Deacon’s lip like he had all the time in the world, like he didn’t know how badly he was revving him up. 

“You,” Deacon panted, pulling away. “You need to get the fuck out of this thing.” 

Danse let out a low chuckle that went straight to Deacon’s dick. “Need instructions?” 

“Need a fucking. Knife.” He started tugging a little desperately at the suit, unzipping everything in sight. 

“Hang on, you have to –“ Danse reached an arm behind him, tugging at something behind his back. Deacon rolled his head on Danse’s chest and let out a soft moan, half hoping to incentivize him. It worked; Danse’s movements became a little frantic, and after a moment he was rolling the suit off his arms and down his waist, exposing his chest and shoulders. 

Deacon immediately latched onto a shoulder with his mouth, gently biting and licking at the dip in his collarbone. Danse’s skin was smooth and warm, stretched out in front of Deacon like the world’s most coveted fucking invitation. His hands roamed everywhere, scratching gently over Danse’s chest, his back, his sides. Danse seemed overwhelmed, let his head fall back again and let Deacon get to work. 

“I didn’t know,” Deacon heard him say after a moment. 

“What?” Deacon asked, his mouth against Danse’s chest now. He hoped it wasn’t the synth shit again. 

“That it would be like this. With you.” 

Deacon closed his eyes, tried to lose himself in Danse’s skin. He was lowering into a crouch, trailing bites and kisses down Danse’s stomach. 

“I mean, you were right,” Danse continued. “I certainly thought about it enough. But. I guess I didn’t –“ 

“Jesus Christ, Danse.” Deacon drew back and pulled his t-shirt over his head, trying to pretend he didn’t notice Danse’s stare as he tossed it off to the side. “No pillow talk until we’ve actually come, ok?” 

Danse looked at him and for a long moment Deacon actually thought he’d blown his shot, but then the soldier let out a big, booming laugh, his chest shaking as it left his body. It was a sight Deacon didn’t think he’d gotten to see before and he liked it, pressed a quick kiss to Danse’s shoulder and grinned back at him. 

“Jesus,” Danse said, wiping his eyes. “I don’t have to tell you it’s been a while.” 

“For me too,” Deacon admitted, realizing only after he’d said it that he hadn’t actually meant to tell Danse that. Stupid pretty-boy soldiers. He shook it off, tried not to dwell on his slip-up. “Think I still remember how to do this though.” He got to his knees, and Danse’s smile immediately disappeared, replaced by a look of awe. Or something like it. A very horny terror. 

“Deacon. You don’t have to.” 

“Want to,” Deacon said, dragging Danse’s suit down past his hips. “Really, really want to.” 

Danse let out a small groan as his cock bobbed free. Deacon took a moment to appreciate the view, let himself breathe hot onto the sensitive skin. Danse clawed a bit at the wall behind him. 

“Please,” Danse moaned from above, his eyes shut tight. 

“Oh no,” Deacon said, finally grabbing onto Danse’s dick and lifting it toward his mouth. Danse grunted, tensed his thighs. “Don’t you know when you beg that nicely you just make me want to draw this out more?” 

Danse whined, balled his hands into fists. His dick was hard as hell and leaking pre-cum at the tip, begging for attention. Deacon licked a quick hot stripe along the side, then took the entire length into his mouth, relishing the moan it earned him. 

“Fuck,” Danse groaned from above. Deacon hummed in agreement and had to fight off a smirk when Danse gasped. 

He started off slow, bobbing his head up and down Danse’s length and lavishing attention on every inch. Danse felt amazing on his tongue, and between that and Danse’s moaning, Deacon’s erection was starting to get uncomfortably tight in his jeans. He palmed absently at his dick with his free hand, overwhelmed by the smell and sound and feel of Danse. Danse must have noticed because he suddenly groaned loudly above him, smacked a hand against the wall. Deacon drew his mouth away and pumped Danse’s cock with one hand, wanting to get a look at him. He looked wrecked, pink high on his cheeks, lips kiss-swollen, eyes unfocused. He looked down at Deacon with amazement, like he wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten there. 

Deacon ducked back in and brought Danse’s dick to his lips, sucked at the head just to hear Danse cry out, then took the entire length down again, happily lost himself working his mouth up and down. There was something intoxicating about the constant feedback loop, Danse making appreciative noises above him, Deacon responding and changing pace, lingering just to see what he pleasure he could wring out. 

He didn’t know how much time had passed when suddenly Danse was pushing at his shoulder, insistent. Deacon pulled back again, let his hand continue slowly working him up and down. “Up. Want you up here,” Danse said, weakly pulling at Deacon’s left arm. 

Deacon reluctantly obliged, gracelessly rising to a standing position, accidentally falling into Danse a bit. Danse immediately went for Deacon’s fly, frantically working it open as he kept his eyes fixed on Deacon’s, tongue between his teeth. Deacon tried maintaining a poker face but lost his secret game with himself as soon as Danse gripped his cock in one big hand. He gasped, ducked his head onto Danse’s shoulder. He let himself moan softly into Danse’s skin, started mindlessly nipping and licking and biting while Danse worked him over. 

“Deacon,” Danse said softly. “I don’t. I need to –“ 

“Shhh,” Deacon said, grabbing Danse’s cock again. He could feel the tension leave Danse’s body, let himself move up close against him, leaving barely enough room for their hands to work. Deacon twisted his grip and Danse whimpered, nuzzled his face against his neck. 

“Yeah, that’s good,” Deacon muttered. “That’s really good. Come on, baby.” 

“God,” Danse moaned. 

“Still Deacon, but I get it all the time.” 

Danse’s laugh quickly turned into a moan. His breathing was picking up, his muscles tensing all over. Deacon could tell he was getting close. He wasn’t so far behind himself. 

“C’mon.” He picked up his pace, lost himself in Danse’s stuttering grip. “So good. So good for me.” 

“Fuck,” Danse said, looking pained. “Deacon –“ 

Deacon kissed him again, swallowing up another moan. They parted slightly, breathed hot into each other’s mouths, rested their foreheads against one another. 

Suddenly Danse tensed up, ducked his head as he curled in on himself, and Deacon felt cum pumping hot over his hand and wrist. It was filthy enough to push him over the edge; he let out a low groan and spilled over Danse’s fist. 

They stood catching their breath for a long moment, curled in on each other. Deacon felt reality start creeping back in on his post-orgasmic glow but wasn’t sure if he wanted to run or tuck himself closer into Danse, which was a frightening realization. 

“So uh, that sure was something,” he said, needing to break the silence. 

Danse laughed breathlessly into his shoulder, smirking as he finally met Deacon’s eye. 

“Surprised you’re still here, honestly,” Danse said. 

Deacon feigned a look of dignified shock, an especially difficult look to pull off given the fact that his dick was still hanging out of his pants. 

“Excuse me? I am a gentleman.” 

“Uh huh,” Danse replied, zipping his suit back up. 

Deacon turned away and tucked himself back into his boxers. He was looking around for his discarded shirt when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He shivered a little, hoped Danse didn’t notice, though judging from the look on his face when Deacon turned to face him that didn’t seem likely. 

“I think you said I get to talk now,” Danse said. 

It took Deacon a moment to put it together, but then he was rolling his eyes. “Jesus, that was a joke!” 

“Still counts.” 

“Fine,” Deacon said, folding his arms. “But you realize we’ve already pushed our luck spending all this time here dicking around, pun intended –“ 

“I know. And I’m going with you,” Danse said. 

That was a relief. So maybe Deacon’s methods were unorthodox, but at least they got results. “Great! Grab your stuff and let’s –“ 

“On one condition. If you don’t really want this, if this was just a… fling for you, I understand.” Danse paused to look down and clasp his hands, and Deacon’s impulse to run became more powerful than ever. “But if you sensed something more there, and I think you did, because I certainly did… I don’t want you to ignore this or pretend it never happened. I’ll join you either way, I’m not holding you hostage. But while I have you I… I want you to know.” 

Deacon frantically weighed his options. He could lie, say he felt nothing. Break the guy’s heart and pass him off to Annie for damage control, traipse off to cope on his own by courting violence or downing booze. Or he could tell the truth, tell Danse that despite every effort to feel nothing, that undercurrent beneath the haze of want was decidedly something, insistent and demanding. But what then? A former Brotherhood paladin who was secretly a synth would find love with a Railroad agent who was secretly human? It all spelled tragedy, and Deacon had already had more than his fair share of that. 

But Danse was… Danse. Stubborn and proud and loyal to a fault. Kind. A pain in the ass. Someone Deacon knew he wouldn’t easily be able to forget. 

“Fine,” he said finally. “I like you too. Are you happy?” 

Danse beamed back at him. “Pretty happy, yeah.” 

“Great. Can we go now?” 

Danse nodded. “Yeah, we can go.” 

They collected their things and left the bunker together.


End file.
